


underneath the bridge

by yeeeeeet



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Knifeplay, adding tags as I go, danny is not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeeeeeet/pseuds/yeeeeeet
Summary: you're new to the entity's playground.good thing you've arrived with a friend.(or, reader is danny's perma-obsession. chaos ensues. not necessarily the good kind.)
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/You, Dwight Fairfield/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	underneath the bridge

**Author's Note:**

> please be gentle with me, this is my first fanfic EVER. i simp way too hard for ghostface and this was the result  
> also, FYI, i write danny as a true sociopath. if you're looking for fluff, this ain't it  
> going to try and update every-other-weekly but i'm also quite busy with university so ???   
> constructive criticism ALWAYS welcome

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment in which you realize that you aren’t in Susquehannok State Forest anymore. It might be when you see the murky tendrils of smoke snaking their way around some of the trees. The puddles of inky goo on the ground certainly don’t seem right. The giant gash on your stomach seems out of place, too. Your phone and your knife have mysteriously disappeared from your pockets, the sky is suddenly pitch black, and you’re positive something really, really fucked up has happened to you.

Maybe a serial killer found your tent. Or a mountain lion. Hell, maybe you slipped and hit your head on a rock a little too hard.

Either way, you’re about 90% sure that you’re dead, and this is hell.

You walk for what feels like hours, looking for something, _anything_ , to reorient you. The cut on your torso throbs a little more with every step, and you know without looking that your hoodie is completely soaked through with blood.

Just when you’re about to lay down on the forest floor and give up, you see it.

Light.

It’s a campfire.

There are _people_ at the campfire.

You know that you should probably be cautious, that the mystery assailant that hacked your stomach open and threw you into an eldritch horror realm might be waiting there for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care, and you feel your legs carry you closer and closer to the fiery glow. It’s a huge camping party – probably close to twenty people, all with absolutely exhausted looks on their faces. They’re sitting on logs encircling the fire, completely silent, staring emptily at the ground. You wonder if your attacker found them, too.

You push your way through the branches and somehow find the energy to ask, “Hey, do you guys have a phone I can use?”

A few of the people sitting closest to you look up. The glances you get back are downright pitying.

“Oh, honey.” An auburn-haired woman stands up, beckoning you over. She’s got a Southern accent, slow and sweet, and you can’t help but trust her. “No, but come sit for a second. You’re bleeding, let Claudette take a look at you.”

“But I don’t –“

“I know, baby. Have a seat. It’s okay.” 

Another woman scoots over on her moss-covered log and pats it, her chocolate eyes hopelessly sad. _Claudette_ , you think. She pulls what looks to be a first-aid kid from behind her and pops it open, rummaging around for what you can only hope is the world’s biggest band-aid.

“What’s your name?”

You tell her, and the others start to introduce themselves. Dwight, Ace, Bill, Kate... You forget most of them immediately. There are so many of them, and they all look like they’ve been to hell and back.

Maybe they have. “Hey, where am I? What is this?” You ask.

Claudette sighs, pulling a piece of gauze out of the med kit, and quietly begins to explain.

This is when you learn about what took you. About the Entity.

\---

It takes longer than you expect to get used to life in the Entity’s world.

Your first trial is a mess – you burn your fingers and blow generators left and right, eventually getting hooked thrice by the Wraith (or, as Meg affectionately refers to him, “bing-bong boy”). The next few trials are a little easier, and you’ve always got a second pair of hands to help you learn how to connect the right wires and time the levers correctly.

Dying is the worst part, but the loneliness eats at you, too. You miss your old life. You hate not needing to eat, or drink, or sleep. The other survivors are used to this way of living (if it can even be called _living),_ but you’re overwhelmed by it, drowning in the constant fear of pain and lack of basic comforts.

Soon, though, you find yourself making a few friends. Feng excitedly chatters about her favorite video games, and even lets you borrow her GameBoy when she’s in trials. Sometimes Claudette asks you to help her collect herbs, patiently teaching you about which of the foreign-looking flowers can be used as offerings. Jeff is all too happy to hear stories about your job in Philadelphia, assisting curators at the modern art museum, and gushes about how he would have loved to come see the exhibits.

You wonder if your coworkers have noticed you’re gone yet.

Things don’t get easier, but they do become a little more familiar. After about ten trials, you start to pick up on all the tips and tricks Dwight is constantly feeding you. Your first escape, from the Huntress, feels incredible – running through those exit gates at what feels like the speed of sound, gripping Meg’s hand, grinning through the blood and the oily black _something_ covering your face. You’re not the new kid anymore.

You’re one of the _survivors_.

The Entity notices and throws you a bone – a new outfit. Gone are your perpetually bloody leggings and torn-up hoodie, replaced with a warm flannel jacket, a black top, and your favorite pair of bleached jeans. In the back pocket, you find your old iPod, the one you used in high school, with a shitty pair of headphones wrapped around it. It’s got all your old favorites, from My Chemical Romance to Peter Frampton. You pop an earbud in, hit shuffle, and lean back against one of the moss-covered logs surrounding the fire. The opening piano notes of a Billy Joel song envelop you in warmth, and you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time:

hope.

In that moment, you let your guard down.

This was your first big mistake.

\--

You hate Backwater Swamp.

Something about the sticky, dense air always makes you feel like you’re suffocating. This trial is no different; you open your eyes, taking in the muggy landscape, and heave a sigh. Adam has spawned in a few feet away, and as you make eye contact with him, give him a dramatic eye roll, and nod at a nearby generator.

The two of you close the distance quickly and set to work.

“Dude, I fucking hate this place,” you mutter.

Adam laughs. He’s always fun to have in a trial – he doesn’t take things too seriously, even when there’s an eight-foot monster chasing him through an abandoned building. He’s got a calm demeanor that you appreciate and _damn_ , his supernatural ability to unhook himself is impressive.

The two of you fall into a concentrated silence, slowly coaxing the generator to life as the crickets and cicadas hum around you. There aren’t any screams, and you can’t feel the ominous pumping of the killer’s heartbeat. Things are quiet, and while that could be a very bad sign, you enjoy the focused work time.

Your generator pops, followed by another across the map. Adam grins, then points at a chest resting near the entrance to the map’s main building. He and Ace have a strangely elaborate competition going – something about who can collect the rarest medkit – so you wave him on and head in the opposite direction, towards the edge of the map, looking for another generator.

It’s still quiet, save the endless drone of bugs.

You trudge through the damp earth, speeding up when you see a lone generator hidden behind a wooden wall. _Yes_. It’s rare that you can hit two generators before even seeing the killer – normally someone has been hooked by now, or at least taken a hit – so you’re counting yourself very lucky today. You kneel next to the generator, the mud seeping through your jeans, and start working. The pistons start to pump, slowly at first, but with more momentum as the machine warms up.

The final piston starts to move when it happens.

A flash of light from behind the generator catches your eye, and you hear a faint _click_. It’s distracting enough to make you miss a skill check, and the resulting explosion makes you jump right out of your skin. _Fuck_. You rest your forehead against the wall next to you, taking a deep breath.

It was just a stray spark. Had to have been.

A few seconds later, you’re back to tugging on levers and connecting wires. You try to even out your breathing, timing it to the pump of the fourth piston. _In, out, in out –_

_Click_.

Another flash. This time, it’s from behind you.

You wrack your brain for a possible explanation; did someone get a camera as a gift from the Entity? Is this some kind of prank? The latter seems more likely, if not a little unsettling, so you pause on the generator. “If one of you assholes is trying to scare me, cut it out and help me with this,” you say, just loud enough for whoever is _clicking_ at you to hear.

You’re expecting Feng or Ace to pop around the corner – hell, maybe even Adam – but what you get instead is a laugh. A distorted, deep laugh, so unsettling that you feel your blood turn to ice in your veins.

“Sorry, babe, no can do.”

And then: the sensation of your shoulder being sliced open, warm blood dripping down your back. A gloved hand yanks you upwards by your hair, and you feel a scream rip out of your vocal cords. The owner of the hand spins you around, slamming your back against the rotting wood of the wall.

This killer is new.

He’s _tall_ – not quite as inhumanly tall as some of the other killer’s you’ve faced, but tall enough – and lithe, built like a runner. He’s cloaked head-to-toe in black and wears one of those tacky Ghostface masks that litter the shelves of Halloween costume shops every October. Part of you wants to cringe at the cheesiness of it all, but another part of you feels sick inside. This isn’t some dumb frat guy trying to look edgy – he’s here for a _reason_ , probably a fucked-up one, and the normalcy of his costume just makes the whole thing feel much creepier than it should.

Ghostface grabs your chin, forcing you to look at where his eyes should be. The mask is beat to hell, dried blood spattered all over its surface. You try not to think about where that blood came from.

He cocks his head. “Nice jeans.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

That sickening laugh again. “Okay, this is gunna be fun.”

Another slice, this time to your left cheek. The killer’s blade is impossibly sharp, and you swear it stings worse than most of the killers’ weapons of choice. He sheaths it and tosses you over his shoulder, almost effortlessly, then turns towards a nearby hook.

_Shit._ You should have sabotaged that. You’re off your game today.

The blood pouring down your back starts to drip down onto your face, hot and sticky, now that you’re upside-down.

Ghostface stops in front of the hook and heaves you onto it. The searing pain blacks out your vision for a second, and when it comes back, he’s whipping out a _camera_. This guy has a fucking _camera_ , a nice one, too, and you’re not entirely sure you’re not hallucinating this, because what the actual _fuck_.

“Hang tight for me, okay babe?”

He aims the camera at your face, bloodstained and bruised, and the flash blinds you.

“Ahhh, perfect, that’s a good one.”

You can’t come up with a good response to that, because you’re still trying to process the words that left the killer’s mouth. You’ve _never_ heard one of them talk; everyone assumes the monsters that chase you aren’t even human, even though some of them look like they could be. But _this_ one is human, disturbingly so, and as he trots off into the foggy darkness, you can’t shake the sinking feeling in your gut. It’s easy to turn off your emotions when you’re running from animals.

People?

They’re way fucking scarier than any animal you can think of.

\--

Steve is able to grab you off the hook, and by the time he’s patched you up, two more gens have popped. He grabs your arms to steady you as you stand, a worried look in his eye, and asks if you’re okay. Clearly, you aren’t doing a great job of hiding the shock you feel.

“I’m fine, Steve. It’s a new killer, just shook me up. You know how it is.”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean, new killer? I’ve seen this guy before.”

You can feel the color leave your face. “I haven’t, and I’ve been here a while -”

“I know. I think he came here with you, actually. You sure you don’t recognize him?”

The pit in your stomach grows, and you feel like it’s about to swallow you whole.

You shake Steve’s hands off of your shoulders and heave a sigh, desperately trying to force yourself to breathe. It’s rare for a killer and a survivor to show up together without some sort of connection to each other from their previous lives – unheard of, really. Hell, the killer that came with Laurie was her _brother_.

How do you know this guy? Suddenly, you realize you can’t remember the last few months before you ended up here, besides the tail end of your camping trip. What month was that, anyway? Were the leaves changing color yet? Were you stupid enough to go to that state forest on your own?

Is this why you’re so shaken up? Are you suppressing memories of someone trying to _kill_ you?

“…hey, wake up. We gotta go. Nea’s almost done with the last gen.”

Steve is violently waving his hand in front of your face.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah, let’s go,” you mumble, trying to snap yourself out of the seemingly endless stream of intrusive thoughts. Steve frowns, straightens himself up and starts a light run to the border wall of the map. A _clunk_ sounds, then the horn of the exit gates, and you pick up the pace to keep up with Steve.

Adam is already holding the heavy lever of the exit gate down when you arrive, and you thank a nameless higher power for coordinated teammates. He gives a quick wave and a grin, but his smile falls when he sees the look on your face. Nea rounds a corner, and as the gates rush open, she books it through, disappearing into the void of darkness beyond the last vestiges of the gate. Steve follows, and Adam wraps an arm around you, guiding you forward. You’re just about to step over the finish line when you hear a deep voice behind you yell your name.

Your fucking _name_.

Your head whips around, and Ghostface is standing at the mouth of the gate, camera dangling by the strap gripped in one hand and impossibly long knife clutched tight in the other. Now that he’s in the light, you notice thin tendrils of cloth floating around him – almost like the claws of the Entity itself – and a faint, silky sheen to his cloak.

“It was _sooooo_ great to see you!” His tone is mocking, slippery with sarcasm, and you can feel yourself physically recoil at the words. And then, unexpectedly:

You’re frozen.

Inexplicably, so is Ghostface.

Adam’s tugging at your arm from behind, but you can’t follow him, your eyes glued to the man in the mask. He doesn’t make a move towards the two of you. His face is shrouded, but you can feel his eyes locked onto you, piercing through the fabric of his mask.

You feel violated, but somehow, this is familiar. This has happened before.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, let’s _go_ –“

Adam’s still pulling, _pulling_ , hard on your arm, and with a strong tug you’re yanked into the creamy black emptiness, falling and falling and falling and then

nothing.


End file.
